


Close Your Eyes

by nevershootamockingbird



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Child Abuse, Gen, Protective Dean, john winchester is an abusive parent, mostly anyway, winchesters through the ages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 15:48:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3983806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevershootamockingbird/pseuds/nevershootamockingbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's been telling Sam to close his eyes their whole lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> So after last night's shit show of a finale, I saw a post by tumblr user blushingmisha (post found here--> http://blushingmisha.tumblr.com/post/119489290660/sammy-close-your-eyes-dean-says-as-he-runs) and I was instantly inspired to write it. I mean, all I really did was expand upon each point of it, but I think it turned out okay. As it says in the tags, there is child abuse in this fic, so if that ain't your thing, either skip the fourth section down or don't read it at all.

“Close your eyes, Sammy.”

Dean is four and Sam is so young, but there is ash and there is smoke and there is heat everywhere. His baby brother can’t be old enough to understand, but Dean has to try anyway, has to try to make sure nothing hurts his brother. Mom's screams were so _loud_ , and he can still hear his Daddy yelling, too; he has to take care of Sammy, though, he has to. So he sits and he waits outside, crying when anyone tries to take Sam, pressing kisses against his brother’s chubby cheeks and mumbling the same sentence over and over and over again.

  
  


“Close your eyes, Sammy.”

Dean is seven and Sam is three, and there’s so much blood. He knows head wounds bleed a lot, he’s seen enough on Dad, but he still panics a little because this is his baby brother and it’s his job to keep him safe. A mom is trying to coax Sam over to her, but that just makes him cry harder, and Dean speeds up his run. He flashes her a smile, spitting lies about their dad being just on the other side of the hill, before picking Sammy up as best as he can and taking him away from prying eyes. He fishes a napkin out of his pocket as they walk, pressing it to the cut on his brother’s forehead, other arm wrapped securely around his shoulders. He waits until they’re over the crest of the hill before sitting Sam down, dropping to his knees next to him and fishing a band-aid out of the other pocket, smiling reassuringly and talking in a calm voice, waiting until his brother’s eyes shut before carefully pulling away the napkin and sticking the bandage in it’s place. He presses a kiss to his forehead, relieved when he sees Sammy’s tears replaced by a sunny smile.

 

“Close your eyes, Sammy.”

Dean is twelve and Sam is eight, and this can’t be happening. Dean never wanted this to happen, never wanted Sammy to see this; out of the three of them, he at least had a chance to be normal, didn't he? But here they are, cowering away from a vampire that dad hadn't bothered telling Dean about. He can’t put Sam far enough behind him, can’t press him into the corner any more, and Dean doesn't want his brother’s memories of Maine to be marred by this, a horrifying creature with teeth like a shark’s fighting dad for their blood. He keeps shouting the words over and over, determined not to let Sam watch as dad saws through the vamp’s neck. Dean has nightmares for a week, but his brother sleeps soundly through the night, so he knows it’s worth it.

 

“Close your eyes, Sammy.”

Dean’s sixteen and Sam is twelve, and god he’s amazed that his brother still listens to him so unquestionably. He shoves him down on the bed, presses a pillow against his head and barks at him to cover his ears, but then dad’s got him by the collar and is dragging him across the room, shoving him down on the other bed and growling at him to take off his shirt. Even from a few feet away Dean can smell the the alcohol saturating his breath, and he’s barely got time to yank his shirt up before the sting of the belt is against his back. He keeps his face towards the other bed, and he tries so fucking hard to bite down on his shirt instead of screaming, but he’s sure a few yells get out. There are tears blurring his vision, but every time he thinks he sees the pillow move he just yells at Sam to keep his eyes shut. It feels like it goes on for hours, and when John finally drops to the bed next to him, slurring insults and grabbing his upper arm hard enough to bruise before shoving him off the bed, it hurts to fucking breathe. He tells Sammy to stay down, voice raspy and weak, jaw sore from being clenched so hard; he takes a long time trying to clean himself up in the bathroom, and by the time he comes out his brother is under the covers, head still shoved under the damn pillow. Dean feels a new wave of tears clawing at his eyes as he slips in next to Sam, reaching out to fist a hand in his brother’s shirt as he settles into a restless sleep.

 

“Close your eyes, Sammy.”  
  
Dean is twenty-six and Sam is twenty-two, and this is never what was supposed to happen. Sam was supposed to get, enjoy college, and have a normal fucking life; he wasn't supposed to watch his girlfriend burn up on the ceiling. Dean hasn't seen his little brother sleep in close to 36 hours now,  and it’s wearing on him, dark circles under his eyes that haven’t been around since Dean watched him do his first salt and burn. So when Sam starts nodding off at his laptop, bottle of whiskey held loose in his hands, it isn't hard to prod him towards the bed, pulling away the liquor and shoving his jacket off, wrestling his boots and jeans off before pulling the blanket up over him. Sam’s crying, but Dean doesn't think he realizes it, which makes the guilt flare up all that much more. He sits on the edge of the bed, stroking a hand over his brother’s head, murmuring softly until finally Sam loses his grip on consciousness and sleeps.

 

“Close your eyes, Sammy.”

Dean is thirty-four and Sam is thirty, and they've seen so much damn shit in their lives. It’s shaping up to be another sleepless night wondering around the bunker when he hears his brother shout. He grabs his gun off the table, running towards Sam’s bedroom before he even really has a chance to think about it. He’s barely got time to be grateful that Sammy doesn't lock his door before bursting into the room, gun up in one hand as the other goes for the light switch. When all he sees is Sam, shamefaced and panting, sitting up with shaky hands clenched in the bedspread, he lowers his gun, letting out a slow breath and smiling sadly. Dean moves closer, waving asides his brother’s stammering protests that he'll be alright, gently curling a hand over his shoulder and pushing as he sits on the edge of the bed. He says the words once, gently, so unlike that very first time he told his brother to do it. He’s relieved Sammy does what he says, and he stays there until his breathing’s gone regular and his hands have gone slack; he stays there past that, stays there as the minutes tick by and Sam rolls onto his side like he always has; he stays until there’s a crick in his neck and a burning behind his eyes, finally desperate for sleep. He only leaves when he’s sure the nightmares won’t come back; just to be safe, he keeps the light on when he leaves.

 

“Sammy, close your eyes.”

Dean is thirty-six and Sam is thirty-two, and the world is going to end. He feels numb, he feels angry, he feels tired. Sam’s eyes are shut now, and he’s glad; he doesn't want his brother to see this. Dean misses the way things were, before this whole mess; he misses his brother’s smile, he misses Charlie and Kevin, and he misses Cas. God, he misses Cas. He misses himself, too, who he was before Crowley and Cain and the god damned mark. He tightens his grip on the scythe, sighing shakily and shaking his head. Sam doesn't flinch, just stays there on his knees, eyes shut, like some kind of mockery of prayer. Dean’s stomach rolls, and it’s turn to close his eyes then, offering up his own silent prayer to a god who no longer believes in them. His last thought before he swings the scythe is  _I'm so fucking sorry;_ then Sammy is opening his eyes, and god if Dean isn't glad he finally stopped listening to him.

 

 


End file.
